


the beginning of the end of the beginning

by packrat



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 2nd person POV, F/F, also Kenny Elena and Hugo are there, and villanelle is soft and sleepy and shit, but they don’t say much, chapter 2 is pure gay yearning, eves pov, i wouldn’t say ooc but the characters are adjusted to my liking, look I’m gonna tell you right now: there is no happy ending, mentions of vomiting???, soft!eve, soft!villanelle, the time loop!au no one wanted to read, this is so focused on eves feelings you’ll just forget that there’s no happy end, this story lulls you into a false sense of security and then slaps you in the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat
Summary: you just want to tell her how you feel because she is the center of your universe. you want her to know that she’s always been it for you. and when you decide to tell her it’s almost too late.but maybe you will make it all the way through next time, right? because there will always be a next time with her.an unconventional take on a time loop!au in 2 parts
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 38





	1. the beginning before the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I’m legit still trying to figure it all out but here is a prologue for now.
> 
> The general idea came from watching Dark and thinking that a plot with an infinite time loop would be very interesting. Where the end of the last episode ties into the beginning of the first and so you could do an endless rewatch of sorts.
> 
> Also thank you to the people who listened to me whine very patiently ans helped me figure out how all of this works exactly <3

Your story begins long before her 26th birthday. It begins on the first day of elementary school and you getting sat next to her. It begins with you extending your hand and introducing yourself and her eyes looking into yours, green and confused, as you tell her you want to be her friend. 

From then on out you were inseparable. She always said that you’re the same and though you refused to accept that in the beginning you’ve always known that she is right. Because you are the same.

Her eyes are your eyes, though you cannot see the world through them you can see it now. Your feet are her feet, carrying her when she can’t. Her arms are your arms, holding you close and upright when no one else does. And your hands are her hands. Everything she touches takes your fear of it away. Your thoughts are her thoughts. And your heart is her heart because it only beats for her. For Villanelle. Three beats that call out her name, to call her back to you at every twist and turn. A magnetic pull tethering you to each other. You can never stay apart for long.

You never really believed in soulmates or in destiny, but there was something inexplicable that tied you together. A red band forcing you to take the same steps along the same path if you will. When she pushes, she is pulled. You push, you are pulled. Both of you are pieces fitting together perfectly. Two halves that make a whole.

You complete each other. 

It’s been you, falling for her. And you want to tell her all the time but you are so incredibly bad with words. They never come to you when you need them, although you speak three different languages. And in your head you’ve already memorized the speech. Revisioned it every night before falling asleep and still, it’s not perfect. It never will be but it exists at least. It exists in English. In French. In Korean. Only in your head. You’ve never spoken a word of it out loud. You doubt you ever will.

So it’s also been you, who never told her how you really feel. It’s always been you by her side, and her by yours. When everything fell apart you had each other to lean on at least. Always had each other to hold on to when everything got drowned in darkness. Of course you also had each other in the moments of brightness and sunshine. Had each other on the rare summer days intercepting the winter. 

Birthdays though, they always bore a significance that you couldn’t explain. 

And now you’re both 26. And it’s you standing at her front door, with two of your closest college friends.

 _More importantly, it always begins like this: a party to celebrate her turning 26. She always turns 26. When neither of you thought you’d ever make it this far (and you don’t know it yet but you won’t make it further): 26 and graduated and working. Birthdays were never happy occasions, what with your parents dying when you were 17 and her mother abandoning her when she was barely nine and never coming back. With her struggling through the foster system. And with both of you struggling to survive every day of your lives._

_When you talked about your respective future, it’s always only been her that you could see. Because she was everything you had. Everything else is hazy and blurry. But her face? Her face is always there. Clear as day amidst the fog. It’s always her face and if you knew, you’d laugh at the irony of it all._

_You don’t know it yet but you will find out about it at one point like you always do. And you forget as it begins each time again, but it always begins like this. You would mourn what you lose each time, if you had any recollection._

It actually starts the day after her birthday. With hangovers all around but back to the subject at hand: It’s her birthday today and you brought Elena and Kenny with you to her celebration. 

Elena. Unapologetic about being herself. Loud and funny, and quick witted. Also more intelligent than she lets on. Definitely the one with the common sense among you three. And Kenny, her almost too shy, little too awkward boyfriend with IT skills beyond your comprehension. 

You wouldn’t want to exchange them for the world.

Villanelle greets you with a hug and a couple of shots. You know she’s already quite drunk herself and you can’t help but grin. She just makes you act like that.

“Can you believe we’ve made it this far, Eve? We are 26 now. Twenty. Six.” She puts extra emphasis on the age again and pouts and you laugh and shake your head. Because of course not. Neither of you thought you’ll ever be here. 

She introduces you to Hugo, her friend from college and he’s just as much of an asshole as Villanelle is. He annoys you instantly. Where Villanelle’s flamboyant persona is intriguing, his is annoying. Confidence on him? Annoying. He? Annoying. There is something you immediately dislike about him. Him and his “I’m better than you” persona. His “I graduated from Oxford because my Daddy paid for it” persona. You don’t dislike him. You borderline hate him.

You’ll accept him for her sake though. 

You drink so much throughout the night that the room starts and then doesn’t stop spinning, even when you lay down in the garden and close your eyes. 

You inhale the fresh night air deeply, trying to block out the heavy thumping of the bass in the background, and exhale. Then, suddenly, Elena is by your side. As she always is when you’ve been drinking too much.

“Here you are,” she says as she’s sitting down next to you. You think that she is sitting next to you, judging by where her voice is coming from but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and check. You want to answer but everything feels heavy all of a sudden. And then you’re crying. Silent tears leaking from closed eyes.

Elena’s fingers find her way into your curls then and, and Villanelle does that a lot with your hair and it’s all too much. The alcohol and the fingers in the hair and Villanelle, Villanelle, Villanelle. You can smell her on your clothes and it makes you feel dizzy and calm at the same time.

“I love her, El,” you hiccup between sobs. ”I’ve always loved her.” You don’t open your eyes but you feel her move closer. It’s not the first time you’ve admitted it to her.

“I know,” she answers. “And she loves you. She’s made heart eyes at you since the moment we walked in.” One of here fingers wipes the tears from your cheeks.

You fall silent again as you think about Elena’s words. Her face flashes behind your eyelids. Elementary school. Middle school. High school. Prom. Whenever you saw each other on breaks and at weekends. No. She’s always looked at you like that. Ever since you can remember. That are just her eyes, right? She could never love you back that way. Not when she is this extraordinary person while you are… you. You are just you and she is everything. 

“You just have to tell her,” Elena adds as an afterthought.

You know. _God_ you know. But you can’t. Not right now. Because what if she doesn’t like you the same way? What if you lose your friendship over that? What if you make everything weird between the two of you? Then you have nobody anymore. Then, you are completely alone. No. You can’t. There’s too much on the line.

“Thank you.” You search for her other hand blindly and give it a squeeze. Instead of telling her how you can’t tell Villanelle about everything you’re feeling you open your eyes. “I’m ready to go back in.” She gets up first and pulls you up and you return inside hand in hand. 

Inside, you take two more tequila shots and you can feel the bass beating in your chest. It’s definitely not your heart. Definitely not your heart beating so hard that you can feel it in your throat, your head, your lungs. Definitely not your heart beating so hard it might as well rip you apart.

Next thing you know, you’re dancing. Awkward and uncaring, trying to shake all your concerns. And then you see her in a corner of the room. The light is dim but her silhouette is glowing. She is so angelic like this and you wish you could take a picture and keep this memory forever. 

You are moving into her direction then, your feet walking without your permission and your hands reaching out without thinking and then you are pulling her up and close to you and away into a different corner. A space meant for only the two of you. Then you hug her, inhale her scent and stay like this for a moment. Two moments. Maybe three. She is laughing quietly and tells you that you must have had too much to drink. And you answer that yeah, maybe she is right. Maybe you have had way too much to drink. That you overconsume, that you don’t know your limits. but that both of you turning 26 is reason enough to drink until nothing makes sense the same way anymore.

She agrees.

You don’t tell her that the only thing you can never overconsume is her. That with her, there is no limit. That she is ever expanding like the universe. Instead, you continue dancing as her eyes are on you, quietly observing. She is smiling and you’ve not seen her smile so genuinely in a long time. This is the moment. This is it. 

_You just have to tell her._

And you decide it’s now or its never. She is smiling and all you want. All you want is to kiss her lips. Kiss her. Lips. Pink and full and soft. Kiss—


	2. the end the end the end

**84:00:00**

You wake up in her flat. Half leaning against the couch, slumped in a sitting position on the floor. Your head starts pounding immediately as the memories come flooding back at the same time. The shots, all the shots you downed, and the food, the garden and you crying and the dancing and the almost kissing and you think you’re going to be sick. You bolt upright and into the bathroom and make it just in time to vomit into the toilet. 

You swear yourself off of drinking, full well knowing that you’re lying to yourself.

When you wash your face, deliberately ignoring your reflection in the mirror, you remember that you didn’t kiss her on the lips. No. You moved in, close to her ear, and whispered ‘happy birthday, V. I’m happy you’re still here.’ You didn’t kiss her at all. You exhale with relief because you don’t want to tell her while you’re drunk out of your mind. No. It has to be perfect.

When you feel like you won’t throw up again, when you’re feeling halfway to steady, you exit the bathroom and walk into the kitchen. On your way there you discover that there is trash everywhere and vow to yourself that you will clean up after having breakfast. 

She is also in the kitchen, looking really unwell. Her head is on the table, laying on her crossed arms. You can’t see her face but her hair is all out of place, barely held together in a messy bun. She’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday night and she is clearly struggling to breathe. You know better than to touch her when she is this hungover, so you wordlessly fill a glass with water, and carefully place it next to her on the table, along with painkillers. You decide against making breakfast for her sake. 

“V,” you try to not lift your voice too much. When she opens her eyes to look at you, all you add is “drink up. You’ll feel better.”

You sit opposite her at the table, watch as she takes the painkillers and drinks the water. Her face is red from where her head had laid on her arms. And she is shaking. You can make out the tears forming in her eyes and her silent plea to hold you for a moment. Just one moment. Or two. Or three.

_You’re sitting at the dinner table and she is eating and you can’t stop staring as she’s telling you that she needs to get out. Tears are pooling in her eyes. You can hear yourself calling her act out._

You shake yourself out of it and brush it aside, then get up to get closer to her.

“Have you slept yet?” You ask her and she slowly, carefully shakes her head.

“Come,” you say as you stand before her then. There is a strand of honey blonde hair hanging in her face so you reach out and tentatively tuck it behind her ear. You pull her up gently. “Let’s get you to bed.”

She inhales deeply as she’s getting up, almost falling back into the chair again but your hold keeps her just steady enough. Neither of you says anything as you walk the ten, twelve meters at most into her room. She clings to you like you’re her lifeline the whole time, clings to you when you help her into bed and want to turn and leave. 

“Stay,” is the first thing she’s saying. And how could you deny her that. How could you deny her anything. So you stay. You climb into her with her and she is pulling herself closer to you, resting her head on your chest with one arm placed above your midriff. And you are untying her hair without giving it much thought. 

You untie her hair and run your fingers through it in an attempt to get the rough knots out. And then you’re carding your fingers through her golden strands, lightly massaging her head with one hand while you hold her close to you with your other arm. 

“Try to sleep, love,” you tell her but you discover she’s already done just that. So you pull her even closer, kiss her on the crown of her head, where her hair parts. And before you know it, you are falling into a dreamless sleep as well. The plans of cleaning up long forgotten.

**80:20:17**

You wake up with a start and breathe deeply, desperately trying to fill your lungs with oxygen. There are only flashes of time, of her face, an axe, and you felt like you were running. 

As you come to, you feel the weight on your chest and you calm down almost immediately. Her warmth spreads through your body and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve dreamt. You push it into the back of your mind, like you do with everything you are not willing to deal with and that is out of place. 

You tend to forget about these things anyway until much much later when they have become resolved and insignificant.

One of your hands is holding her head, her hair soft and tangling around your fingers. Your other hand is holding hers. You bring them to your lips and kiss the back of hers before dropping them back on your chest. 

You stay like this for a moment longer. Take it, take her in. She looks so peaceful like this and again, you wish you could just take a picture of her so you can keep this memory forever.

Then you inhale, exhale, untangle your hand from her hair, smooth it out her face and let her other hand go. You push her off of you as tenderly as possible and get up. You feel how her fingers are wrapping around your wrist again. So you kneel by the bed and let your thumb run along her cheekbone, let your hand rest on her cheek. Her perfect skin. She relaxes immediately and lets your wrist go again.

“I’m just in the living room, cleaning up. I’m not going anywhere.” I love you, you want to add. I love you and I want to kiss you and I want to stay with you forever.

Instead of confessing all your feelings, that you have always been feeling, you get up from the floor and pull the duvet over her shoulders. You can’t help yourself but brush through her hair a last time before finally leaving her room so she can continue sleeping.

You enter the living room caught in your own mind and when you look up you almost scream. You didn’t expect anyone to still be here, expected that everyone had left. 

Three heads turn at the same time. Their bodies are on the floor, two of them leaning against the couch, like you had done earlier. The third one is laying on its back and staring at the ceiling. 

“Eve,” Elena drags the first ‘e’ on for a moment. And you know that she’s more than halfway to drunk again already. If she ever had a chance to sober up that is. She is leaning into Kenny’s side, who is holding her close and all you think is that you want that. You want to hold her like this. 

Hugo groans then. He is staring at the ceiling as if looking for something and then he asks you, he seriously asks you, Eve, what the meaning of life is. As if you don’t have your own things to worry about. He is talking about how life is just walking in circles and nothing has meaning and Eve, why does nothing have meaning and maybe, you think, maybe he’s just gotten a tad too high on his designer drugs. 

“I don’t know,” you answer as you fall across the length of couch and close your eyes. You really can’t afford yourself to fall into the abyss that is “the meaning of life”. You’re depressed enough as it is. Thank you very much. 

You feel Kenny and Elena shift next to you and you’re waiting, anticipating, for her to ask you about Villanelle and you sleeping in her bed for the past hours or so. You don’t actually know how much time has passed. 

Instead, Kenny asks you if you want something to drink because Elena needs to sober up before he takes her home. “Mum is already not so keen on the fact that I’m dating her,” he adds. 

You smile and shake your head, declining. “I’m good, thank you though.”

Eventually, all three of them leave together with Kenny promising to get Hugo home safe. Wherever his home is. As you close the door you exhale loudly. 

Finally. 

And then you take some trash bags from the kitchen, plug your headphones into your phone, turn on music, and get to at least picking up the trash. 

She is sleeping until you decide to wake her up in the late afternoon. You open the door to her room and peek inside to discover that she physically hasn’t moved an inch. Her head is buried under the duvet and the only hint that she is still there is the blonde hair spilling out from under the blanket. 

You know you need to wake her so she’ll be able to sleep tonight as well. But a selfish part of you doesn’t want to wake her. That part wants to climb into bed with her and sleep and kiss and just shut out the outside world for now.

So you do. 

You hold her close to you and it doesn’t take long before you’re fast asleep again. 

**60:00:00**

You wake up in her flat. Half leaning against the couch, slumped in a sitting position on the floor. And— didn’t you fall asleep in her bed? Maybe you’ve been dreaming it. Whatever. 

Your head starts pounding immediately as the memories come flooding back. The shots, all the shots you downed, and the food and the dancing and the almost kissing and you think you’re going to be sick. You bolt upright and into the bathroom and vomit. 

You didn’t tell her.

You hand Villanelle a glass of water and some painkillers. 

_You’re sitting on a bed in a trashed apartment and she is sitting in front of you, all bruised and beaten and you want to reach out and touch. You don’t._

Both of you end up in her bed, fast asleep. The plans of cleaning up long forgotten. 

You wake up with a start and for a second you feel like you have experienced this before. All of this has felt like a déjà vu so far. 

Your hand in her hair and you holding hands and you kiss the back of hers. Then you get up carefully and tell her that you’re only in the living room. Where Elena is. Leaning against her boyfriend. And Hugo staring at the ceiling, high out of his mind. 

They leave and you clean and in the late afternoon you climb back into Villanelle’s bed, back to her and fall asleep holding her in your arms. 

**36:00:00**

You wake — you think you’ve done this before. 

_You are both laying on the bed, facing each other. She looks vulnerable and then you have a knife in your hand and push._

You feel sick and bolt to the bathroom to throw up. 

You’ve definitely done this before.

You find Villanelle in the kitchen. Hand her water and painkillers and ask her to come to the living room with you. The moment you walk into the living room, Elena, Kenny and Hugo also enter through another door. 

They are looking at you, as you’re holding Villanelle steady and close to you by her waist. You waste no time, feel like you shouldn’t, you can’t, waste time.

You inhale deeply, exhale. Your free hand runs over your face and you pinch the bridge of your nose. What if you’re actually the only one that experiences this? What if you’re stuck in a dream? What if none of this is real? Or you’re just going mental.

“Does anyone else feel like we’ve been here before?” You feel Villanelle tense up next to you and pull her closer to you. _It’s okay._ It tells you that you might be on to something. So you open your eyes and look into Elena‘s. Something in her look, her posture, confirms it. “Like we’ve done this exact thing before?” You speak to her directly then. “Like you’ve woken up in the same position? Done the same thing over and over again? Please tell me if you do because I need to know that I’m not going mad.” 

Villanelle next to you tenses up even more and you lead her to the couch. For a moment, you’ve forgotten that she’s incredibly hungover. When you sit down she is leaning more into you and your hand finds its way into her hair. You just want her to feel steady. She hasn’t really gotten sleep yet, and, and why do you know this? 

You remember that you’ve done this before. 

Hugo speaks up first. “I honestly thought I was going mental. Like, I knew I fell asleep in my bed and then I woke up here? I seriously thought I was having a bad trip.” He runs his hand through his hair. 

Elena and Kenny agree. He looks around, then decides to voice his thoughts. And you quickly come to realize that they’re not the most fun things to think about.

“This makes me wonder how many times we’ve woken up and haven’t been aware of the fact that we have went through the exact same thing. And how many others are also going through this. You know? Is it just us or is it everyone? Or is it just some people here and there and everyone is just as lost as us?”

You talk then, all of you exchanging your thoughts with each other. Villanelle, barely awake and clinging onto you, her head on your chest, your hand in her hair, is suddenly all you can focus on. 

“Right, Eve?” Elena asks you and you, you haven’t been listening, too preoccupied with watching Villanelle. Elena knows this though, you know that she knows, so she repeats her question. “We have to solve this. Right? Eve?” So you nod. Because she’s right. They’re right. Of course you have to find a way to solve it. 

But how would we go about it, you find yourself asking. Because the only way out you see so far is by breaking the routine and you’ve done that so far. Kenny agrees with you and it makes you feel better for not having other solutions to your problem. 

“I love you, Eve. You’re so smart.” Villanelle suddenly whispers next you. It is so quiet that if you hadn't been so close to her, you wouldn’t have heard it. And you know you weren’t meant to hear it. You freeze for a second, for a very long second, and then when the words truly register you want to ask her what she’s said. But she’s already fallen asleep. 

You decide then that you’ll all just stay together all day and watch movies and order take out. Villanelle only wakes up once to eat and falls back asleep immediately after. Staying in your embrace all day. 

**10:00:00**

When you wake up the next day, on the couch, with Villanelle in your arms, and how does this woman sleep so much, it’s incredible, you know you’ve solved it. 

You hear chatter coming from the kitchen, so you wake the woman in your arms, thinking that she should drink some water and have some breakfast. She is clearly disoriented as she opens her eyes but she nods. 

Three heads turn to you when you enter the kitchen. All of them grinning. And so are you. 

You’ve solved it. 

Hugo is the first one to leave after breakfast, claiming that he has a “hot date that he has to get ready for” and you’re trying really hard not to roll your eyes. He adds something about ceasing the day now that he is a free man again and you hate to admit it but you actually might kinda like him? The thought makes you nauseated. 

Then Kenny and Elena leave as well. As she is hugging you, she whispers that you should tell her. Tell her how you feel because it will make you feel better. And you will know where you stand. 

You remember Villanelle’s words from the day before. And instead of saying anything, you only hug her tighter with a promise of seeing each other next week. Kenny waves at you and then they’re gone as well and you close the door behind them and then it’s only her and you. 

You and her, and her and you. And she stares at you and you stare at her. And, and she is waiting for you to say something maybe? And why does it feel so off?

_”I love you, Eve.”_

Something has changed between the two of you but you can’t, you can’t put your finger on it exactly. It probably is just you, you and your thoughts and cravings, and just, you just, just want touch her. Kiss her. You’ve never felt this awkward around her before. You wonder if she knows that you’ve heard her. It feels like she knows and no, no she doesn’t know, does she? But being around her, and then you know why it feels different. Because you decided you _will_ tell her today. You should thank Elena as soon as you have the chance.

“Get dressed,” you tell her then as a plan is slowly forming in your mind. “We’re going outside.” And she still stares at you but you just smile. You are going to tell her. Oddly enough, you can’t wait to. 

She is still standing in the hallway, frozen, and stares at you and it's so endearing but also, why isn’t she getting ready?

“What?” She doesn’t react. “V? You alright?” That snaps her out of her trance.

“Yes. I’m good. You are happy. I haven’t seen that smile in a long time.” And it makes her smile and you smile even more and then you tell her to get dressed because you want to go to the park.

When she is finally ready to leave, wearing jeans and Doc Martens and is that your, she is wearing your turtleneck under her black bomber jacket and that is doing something to you that you can’t describe. When she is ready to leave the sight of her short circuits your brain. You can’t, you don’t, what do you say? There is nothing to say. 

“Gorgeous,” you think you whisper but the voice is so low and gravelly you can’t be sure it care from your throat. 

The walk to the park is quiet. You’ve always appreciated how neither of you had to talk to fill the silence with meaningless words. So it’s quiet and there is so much space for your thoughts. About what she said when you’ve all been sitting together. 

_”I love you, Eve.”_

And you? You love her, too. 

You’ve been running deep in the jungle of your own mind when you feel her hand reaching out to yours and, yes, you think. When her fingers curl around yours, suddenly, your mind also quiets down. And you relish in it. You inhale and exhale. Let the fresh air hit your lungs and wander through your body and you’re calm. Tranquil. Her hand in yours, your hand in hers, it’s home. You’ve found home. 

When you reach the park, she pulls you in the direction of the pond. And you smile even more, you can’t seem to stop and you find that you really don’t care. It’s quite the opposite actually. It’s all because of her. 

She stops walking when you reach the shadow of a tree by the water and looks at you, waiting for your approval. You smile at her and, fuck, you want to kiss her. But you don’t. Not yet. Instead, you sit down on the grass, leaning against the trunk. And when she moves to sit next to you, you grab her wrist. 

No, you want to say. You show her instead. So you spread your legs and pull her between them and she understands. She understands because, yes, you are the same and she settles between your thighs. Her back to your front and your arms wrap around her midriff, and your hands settle on her stomach. You feel her abdomen muscles tense. Pull her closer to her. Impossibly closer. And even amidst the wind rustling through the leaves and the sound of ducks and moving water, the birds chirping, and your own heartbeat you can hear how her breath hitches and she gasps. 

She takes your hands then and interlaces them with hers again. And you. And this is so, so sweet and so tender. And you can’t think. Her skin is so soft and you let your thumb brush over her knuckles. Again and again as she starts twisting the ring on your index finger around and around and around.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing it,” she states. And from the tone in her voice you can hear that she’s not really with you right now. So you don’t say anything. 

All you do is rest your chin on her shoulder and try to see what she is seeing. You try to see the world through her eyes and you’re trying to look into her mind. 

You think that she might be observing the family of ducks in the distance. Floating on the water. A duck and her entourage of ducklings. 

“Do you think they’re happy?” She is still lost in thought. “They look happy. Carefree,” she trails off and then leans forward and turns her head to look at you. Your faces are so close, so, close, and you could just lean in and do it. Just lean in and kiss and share your happiness. 

“I want that, Eve.” She states and she looks you in the eyes in a way that tells you that what she’s saying is important. That she needs you to know this. She wants you to listen. “I want that. For me, and for you. For both of us, okay? Together. I want _this_.” And you can only nod. Hung up on the way she didn’t say “that” and how she emphasized “this”. She wants “this”. And so do you. 

“I want this, too.” She searches in your eyes then nods and settles back into you, her hand resuming the twisting of the ring you’ve never taken off in ten years. Your head rests on her shoulder again and you are cheek to cheek, skin on skin and so close. So close and you could just. But you don’t. You settle for quietly observing the ducks and imaging your common future. 

You end up in her flat again in the end. In her living room, watching Mean Girls. You both have seen it so many times and she can practically recite the whole film by heart, intonation and everything, but you don’t mind. You’ve watched it so many times that you can predict when she is going to laugh or scoff or when she is about to comment on one of Cady’s bad life choices.

The empty cartons of pizza are strewn across the floor where she’s dropped them from the living room table to see. You sit at one end of the sofa, while she is spread across it. Her legs are pulled to her chest, too long to fit comfortably otherwise. And her head is in your lap, heavy but in a welcoming kind of way. It feels like home. Like the future you want for the two of you. Your fingers are carding through her hair once again. 

It feels like silk running through your fingers and the sunset reflects off her skin in a way that takes your breath away. She is pure art like this. And suddenly you feel like she is a museum and you’re not allowed to touch the paintings. 

Or maybe you are the only one who is allowed to come too close and prod and inspect and touch, touch, touch.

This moment is perfection. This moment is _it._

You know it’s now, now or never and a knot forms in your throat. A knot or a lump and you feel sick. Everything feels hazy all of a sudden and your head starts hurting, your hands feel clammy, more than clammy and, _God_ , you want to throw up.

The weight from your lap lifts and you think she has paused the film but you can’t be too sure. You feel a hand on your shoulder then and it's almost too much. But when you look up, look into her green eyes, everything quiets down. The Earth slows down and comes to a stop. And it's only her and it’s only you. Only the both of you. Suspended in time. Forever Villanelle and Eve. One entity with eight limbs and two faces. 

She talks, at least you think that she’s talking but nothing reaches your ears. It’s like you’re underwater. You know that words are coming out of her mouth but they are sounds that don't add up. Almost like you know the singular words’ meanings but they don't make sense when they are strung together. Why are you so focused on this anyway? Okay, Eve, c’mon. What is she saying?

“Eve?” The words finally reach you and hearing her voice is like breathing. Like breaking through the surface. She is saving you from drowning. “Are you alright?”

You take her hand on your shoulder into your hand, fitting perfectly. You stare at it then. Her fingers are long, her skin is like marble, you feel her pulse, or is it your pulse, beneath your fingertips. Then you look into her eyes, raise your head and look. 

This is the moment, you think. And then you are drowning in the dark green pooling in white. You sink deeper and deeper and for a brief moment you see yourself through her eyes and gasp.

_Monsters within each other that are begging to make it stop. And her face, always her face. And walking and turning back around. And seeing each other. And making a choice, Choosing each other._

“I— Iove you, V. I think about my, about our future and I only see your face. Over and over again. It’s only ever you in my future and it's only ever been you since I can remember. It’s only you. You and your gorgeous face. And I love you, Villanelle,” you turn around, away from her: “I have loved you ever since I can remember. Ever since you came into my life. I can’t remember what there was before you. Because sometimes, sometimes I feel, no, I don’t just feel, I know that there was nothing there before you. I love you, Villanelle. I love you.”

She’s awfully quiet and you begin to worry again. Worry that you’ve done the wrong thing and, oh my God, you _have_ done the wrong thing. And you’ve ruined it. You have ruined the thing you’ve built on your whole life, have relied on your whole life. You’re such an idiot. 

You try to look into her eyes yo find an answer, to find confirmation that, yes, you have fucked it up indeed. She isn’t looking at you though and that somehow makes it worse. So you begin to apologize at the same time that she is beginning to look into your eyes. All you get out is “I’m—“ 

She is also searching in your eyes. Maybe to find the lie she expects you have told. Except that it’s all true. And you need her to know. So you hold her stare. 

“Finally,” Villanelle gasps. “I’ve been waiting for you to admit this for so long.” And then she leans forward and stops wasting your time and she kisses you. And it’s your turn to think that finally, finally she is kissing you. Finally, you are kissing each other. It’s all you ever wanted. And she is so soft and so giving. Kisses you carefully, holding herself back. And you know she’s trying to convey everything, everything she feels that she isn’t able to say with words, through kissing you. 

It isn’t fireworks and revelations. But it is warmth spreading throughout your body. It is like coming home over and over again. It’s hot and needy and slippery. It’s tongues and moans and _I love you, I love you, I love you_. 

You build cathedrals in her name with your words of confession and you pray at the altar of her love. You worship her, and you need her to know how much she has impacted your life for she is a wholly holy being. For in your universe, she is nothing other but God herself. Watching as you take a bite from the apple that you were offered by the snake, committing sin, and sin, and sin. Again and again. Instead of banishing you though, she chooses to love you. At least you hope she does. 

Hearing her say that she has been waiting for you, it’s more than you ever dared to dream. 

You taste her in your mouth even after you break apart and gasp for oxygen. It is seared into your memory already. Then you pull her to you again, closer, because you are one and the same and maybe she will understand because there’s no other way you could ever explain. As lips collide and tongues. And worlds. 

The only way to describe it is like worlds that are colliding. Crashing and creating something new. Something better. And brighter. With a future. She is your future.

And you are kissing, and consuming and you were right. You were right in thinking that you could never overindulge in her. That you could never take to much because there will always be enough. You are kissing and kissing and kissing and everything quiets down and there is only you and her and her warmth and wetness of her mouth and her smell and taste. And her. Only her.

**00:00:59**

And then you understand everything there is to understand because she is the center of the universe. She isn’t only the center of _your_ universe, no. She is the center of _the_ universe. And then it all falls into place. Realization hits you like a freight train. And it knocks the wind right out of your lungs. The dreams. They were warning signs you ignored every chance you got. 

You break the kiss and your hand drops to hold onto hers. 

You didn’t solve the loop. You didn’t solve it at all. And you’ve been wasting all this time that you should have used to restore order with getting over yourself to confess your love for her. You had 20 years and you’ve wasted all this time and maybe it wouldn’t even have gone on for this long if you would’ve had the courage to tell her sooner. And, and you know what triggered it and time, time is running out. You’re running out of time.

Suddenly, you know how to fix it all. To save the both of you, to save all of you. And you open your mouth to tell her that she is the key. And she opens hers at the same time as you do and you let her go first. You need to hear her say it before you tell her about your discoveries.

**00:00:03**

How foolish of you. Love makes you so foolish.

Maybe next time, you think. Maybe next time you can fix this.

You are so foolish.

**00:00:02**

Maybe next time.

You know what comes next and you think ‘I know’ because you won’t get to hear it this time. But maybe next time, right? _God_ , you are so foolish.

You were right in thinking that it's always only her.

**00:00:01**

Villanelle breaks out into a smile. “I l—“ 

**84:00:00**

You wake up in her flat. 

**60:00:00**

You wake up in her flat. 

**36:00:00**

You wake — you think you’ve done this before.

**00:00:03**

Love makes you foolish.

**00:00:02**

Maybe next time.

**00:00:01**

”I l—“

**84:00:00**

You wake up. 

You wake up. 

You wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at tumblr @eve-polastri-is-bi 🤍


End file.
